


Bobby's

by Cake_isnt_pie_sam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cake_isnt_pie_sam/pseuds/Cake_isnt_pie_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a period of time when the John stuck them at Bobby’s for a whole month. Dean said he was nineteen and damnit, he should be able to go on a damned hunt with his own father. As usual, John had made up his mind and wouldn’t hear any of it, leaving them with Bobby. Of course, neither Dean nor Sam wanted to get caught sneaking into one another’s beds in the middle of the night. The first week, they had managed to get by on lingering glances and brushing fingertips. Then, well--it only gets harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bobby's

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own the boys or Supernatural; comments appreciated!)

John occasionally went on hunts that were “too dangerous” for Dean to accompany him. During these hunts, John would drop them off at a hotel, but once in a while, if they were close enough to Bobby’s house, John would just take them there.

There was a period of time when the John stuck them at Bobby’s for a whole month. Dean said he was nineteen and damnit, he should be able to go on a damned hunt with his own father. As usual, John had made up his mind and wouldn’t hear any of it, leaving them with Bobby.

At first, they were too nervous to mess around under his roof, because Bobby was not a heavy sleeper like their dad. Dean could remember the time he snuck into the kitchen to make a sandwich and he dropped the butter knife. Within one minute, Bobby was in the doorway of the kitchen, a sawed-off double barrel pointed at him.

"Damnit, boy," he’d breathed out, lowering the gun and shaking his head. "Don’t you have anything better to do than make sandwiches at three AM? Scared the daylights outta me. I ain’t gonna be the one to tell your dad that one of y’all got eaten by some vamp. Now finish up and get to bed."

Of course, neither Dean nor Sam wanted to get caught sneaking into one another’s beds in the middle of the night.

The first week, they had managed to get by on lingering glances and brushing fingertips.

The second week, the boys went back to sparring regularly and on one particular day, Sam sat on top of Dean, hands grabbing desperately at Dean’s shirt. Dean felt Sam’s hardness against his stomach, his breath hot and needy against Dean’s ear. Dean almost had a moment of weakness, but tossed Sam off of him, clenching his jaw. “Not here,” he’d said to Sam’s face—defeated puppy-eyes almost getting the best of him before he turned away. Dean refused to spar with Sam anymore that week.

The third week, Sam ignores Dean for almost five days, only speaking to him to say the shower’s free or that Bobby was looking for him. Dean figured it was best that way, at least until they were back in motel rooms, where their father would leave them for days at a time. Sure, he could make it up to Sam then. But as the week wore on, Dean felt kinda bad. He couldn’t miss the way Sam’s shoulder’s dropped, or the way Sam’s eyebrows would lift a little when Dean caught him looking at him while they watched TV. Dean knew he had to do something.

By the fourth week, Sam was mostly sleeping. Bobby had asked what was wrong, but Sam said he got a stomach bug or something. But of course, Dean knew better.

Bobby left the house in a rush one morning while Sam was still asleep. He pointed at Dean, eyes narrowed. “I’ll be back in no more than six hours. You watch him and you stay inside this house. If I’m not back by two, call this number,” he said, handing Dean the shotgun and a sticky note with a number on it.

"Yes sir," Dean said, and the second he heard Bobby’s car pull out of the lot, he locked the door and headed to Sam’s room.

Sam was asleep in a pair of boxers, covers all pushed off to the floor, as though he’d been tossing and turning all night. He slept on his back, arms and legs sprawled out across the bed, hair sticking up in every direction. The sight made Dean stop for just a second and smile to himself.

Crawling carefully on top of the bed, he climbs on top of Sam, hands on Sam’s wrists and sitting on Sam’s lap.

Sam jumped to the movement though unable to move. After a second, his eyes focused on Dean, narrowing. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, still half asleep.

Dean leaned forward, his lips brushing against Sam’s ear. “Shh, Sammy.”

Sam closed his eyes, despite his lingering hurt and annoyance of the past few weeks. “Dean, I—”

Dean cut him off, pressing his lips to Sam’s, sliding his tongue along Sam’s bottom lip. He could feel Sam’s tense body fall loose under his hands. Dean let his hands slowly travel up Sam’s arms, shoulders a little too broad to be on a fifteen year old.

Sam’s body finally gave in, hardening against Dean and making the slightest noise at the feeling.

Dean smiled against the noise, sliding his hand up Sam’s neck and to the side of his face. He pulled back, eying Sam.

Sam opened his eyes, mouth panting and wanting.

Dean brushed his thumb across Sam’s cheek. “Bobby’s gone for a while, so I thought—”

"I know. Me too," Sam said, pulling Dean’s mouth back to his, fully exploring the taste of his brother like it was the first time all over again.


End file.
